I Don’t Like You!
by Dionysus S
Summary: Hell no, that annoying girl liked him. No wonder she dragged him to this lame restaurant. She must be absolutely delusional to think that HE would ever go out with HER. 'Sides, he already had a crush someone else. Comashipping, onesided Ikarishipping.


**Title: **I Don't Like You!

**Pairing: **Comashipping, one-sided ikarishipping.

**Summary: **Oh hell no, she liked him. That annoying girl liked him. No wonder she dragged him to this lame restaurant. She must be absolutely delusional to think that HE would ever go out with HER. 'Sides, he already had a crush someone else.

**A/N: **Total crack, I'm serious. Spot any errors–spelling, grammatical–tell me.

I Don't Like You!

Paul gritted his teeth and closed his eyes; damn it, she was such an annoying girl. And what the hell was she talking about now? Yeah, something about the clothes she was going to wear for the next contest. And now he didn't know what annoyed him more: the fact that she was even talking to him or the fact that she was talking to him...about contests.

Contests were for pansies, that's all he knew. And he would have said that too, but irritating female would probably blow her top. Same way she did back at Roark's gym.

"And Paul! Did you see my last contest win? You should watch me, I'm going to compete in Sunyshore real soon. Oh, oh, and Paul? Did you know my mom was a top coordinator?"

At that, said annoyed trainer turned slightly and gave her a sidelong glance. And...she blushed. ...Wait a minute...

Right...

She had a crush on him, he should've known. God, is that why she was going out of her way to impress him and actually take him out to this lame restaurant? Paul almost shivered at the thought–why would she even _like_ him? He almost never talked to her, he almost never paid attention to her; in fact, as far as _he_ knew, she was nothing more than some pre-teen, blue-haired drama queen who loved to wear short dresses. Real short ones. And had black biker shorts underneath...

If she was in school, she'd totally get detention.

"...Right. Anyway it's time for us to order something..." What was her name again? He always referred to her as 'annoying girl', 'that one chick who hangs around Ash', 'the hell is she doing?'. It rhymed with _gone_, something he wanted to do right this second. Shawn? Ron? Celine Dion? Well, the first two didn't make any sense...

She playfully stuck out her tongue and knocked the side of her head, "Hehe, that's right. The waiter's been waiting on us for almost five minutes now." She then scanned through the menu.

Paul gave her a lame look and ordered fried chicken, along with some mash potatoes with gravy inside it. And some macaroni. Dawn–that was her name!–gave him this look that clearly read: 'We aren't in KFC, Paul.' But he ignored it–hell, if he ever married her (God forbid), he would be the worst husband ever, and make _all _the goddamn decisions. Like a _man_.

"I'll have some salad, thank you. And some Fanta."

In an ever-so-lame voice, Paul added, "I want Pepsi. If you don't have Pepsi, get me some coke." He must've sounded like an arrogant douche.

The waiter nodded–he must've been used to this horrible treatment–and simply disappeared off somewhere. Well, probably towards the kitchen, but no one really cared.

"So...um, Paul..." He turned his head back to look at her, with that ever present lame stare he had on all the time. She went on, "So, uh...have you ever seen me perform in contests?"

Paul continued to stare at her. "Yes." Was all he said. It was true, he _had_ seen her perform before, but not for the reason she may have thought. Nah, he'd had his eyes set on someone else.

But she took it in_ that_ way and gasped, her own eyes filling with joy. "R-really?" Dawn gapped, leaning across the table, pushing the salt n' pepper shakers out of the way. "How do you think I did? I've really improved, right?"

"...Whatever. I wasn't even there because of you." As much as he wanted his twenty dollar fried chicken, he really didn't want to stay here with this wretched female anymore.

His admission made her fall back, and now her face was full of astonishment. "T-then, why did you come?"

His mouth twitched–almost unnoticeably–at her last word. _Immaturity. _Was all he thought before looking away, fixing his eyes on the dirtied windows Dawn had insisted they sit by.

Why had he come? Oh, there was such a simple answer to that. It was because of _him_. In fact, by definition, he was a stalker. Paul popping up in all the right places and the right times–one hundred and one meetings couldn't have been a coincidence. How dull could they all be?

'Specially that look he always gave him–really, wasn't it obvious that he had a crush on him? Yeah...he totally wanted to molest him.

"You...don't tell me you like Zoey?"

...what? "Who the fuck is that?"

"You _do_ like her, don't you?"

Paul looked back at her, "Who the _hell_ is that?"

Before Dawn could begin talking in circles, the waiter came–looking all suave–bringing their food on a table. "Salad for the madam." He placed the dieter's best friend–with no dressing–in front of Dawn. "And...fried chicken for you, sir." The tab was dropped and the waiter went off to wait on someone else.

Paul, who was about to chomp into his delicious fried chicken, paused when he felt 'the look' from Dawn. Holding the artery clogging piece of poultry gingerly in his hands, he simply glared at her. "I don't know who the hell this 'Zoey' is, but she _isn't_ the reason I go to the contest halls." He then bit into his food, and then took another...and then another. "Eat your food, woman. What do I care? I'm not the one paying."

Dawn watched in disgust as Paul took a sip of his coke (they didn't have Pepsi). She didn't even know why she'd even bothered taking him out in the first place. She liked him, that much was true, but she should've known he'd act this way. Dawn sighed and shook her head–he was cute, but Paul could be such an asshole sometimes.

But back to the problem at hand. Who, exactly, did he come to the contest for? If not her then...Or maybe he was just pulling her leg. Yeah, Paul wasn't the type of guy who'd straight out tell her that he liked her. _He's just shy! Aww, that's so adorable. It's so obvious that he adores me. I see that look he always gives me, all forlorn...and, and...what was that word I'm looking for?_

Paul polished off his food (and coke) in a mere thirteen minutes. Dawn, on the other hand, was still chomping down on her salad. Popping some Winterfresh in his mouth, he decided to strike up a conversation–something that he never did, by the way.

"You annoying girl, if I tell you who I like, you'll leave me alone, right?"

Well, that was random. "Sure."

Paul almost sneered at her response; like hell he was going to say her name. Well, dinner was done and he was pretty much broke (he'd spent the money he'd mugged off pathetic trainers to buy Pokeballs), so now would be a good a time as any to tell her. With that usual 'I'm better than you, you lame-o' grin, he said, "Well, you know them..."

"I do?"

Without giving it a second thought, Paul mumbled on: "Said person can be pretty irritating–they get on my nerves constantly, always bothering me when I don't even want to talk to them. Said person also has a nice ass..."

"Hey Dawn!" Speak of the unmentioned devil. The black-haired trainer walked over to them and shot one of his 'Hai guyz!1' smiles, and a wave. "Dawn, I've been looking for you. Nurse Joy has–" After what seemed like five hours, Ash finally noticed Paul sitting there, looking all smug. "...Paul."

He only smirked at him–his usual unresponsive response.

"Anyway," Ash hadn't realized the two were currently conversing (that never happens), so he continued, "Nurse Joy told me to tell you that your Pokemon are healed..."

"A nice_ ass_!" She screeched, ignoring her companion. At least the restaurant was nearly deserted. "If the person irritates you, then why would you even like them?"

_What an idiot. _Paul merely yawned and stood, digging into his pocket and placing a couple of bills on the table. "That's about seven dollars right there. I'll pay you back, eventually. Okay, maybe not. Whatever."

"Paul, just tell me. Or, or I'll never stop trying to go out with you!"

"So anyway, your Pokemon are healed, Dawn."

Paul had the lamest look _ever_ on his face.

"Dawn, your Pokemon..."

Paul looked in front of him, so that now he was staring Ash directly in the face.

"Maybe you didn't hear me: your Pokemon...are healed..."

"I can't stand being around you lame-o losers anymore." He rolled his eyes and proceeded to walk past Ash. Dawn had also stood, after placing the rest of the money on the table, and was set on following him, but stopped instantly. Paul was now _behind_ Ash, grinning ear to ear, with his chin resting on his rival's left shoulder.

If it were possible, Dawn's head would have exploded like an Electrode. No, it had to be fake–some Mismagius had to be around, creating an illusion or something. 'Cause Paul couldn't possibly be _feeling _Ash up in the middle of a restaurant.

"You get it now, you annoying girl?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes. "I. _Like_. Ash." He then proceeded to deliver a smooth slap to his rival's ass before sauntering out of the restaurant. He felt like pwning some unsuspecting trainers.

"Your Pokemon are healed..." Ash, who was blushing like mad, took one look at Dawn before running off after him. "Paaaauuuullll, wwaaaiiitt!"

The blue-haired coordinator sniffled and rubbed her eyes. _That...sucks. Aww well, I still have Zoey. _


End file.
